


Blue

by JohnMyBeloved



Series: Stories of Dele and Eric [2]
Category: Football RPF, Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Atlético Madrid, Dele is sad, M/M, Mentions of other ships, eric is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMyBeloved/pseuds/JohnMyBeloved
Summary: Ever since the day he left, Eric had been blue.Ever since Dele had left him and Tottenham for Atlético, Eric had been blue.Ever since the man he cared so dearly for (and loved with his whole heart deep down) had ran away to a completely different country, Eric had been bloody blue.Blue had once been his favourite colour, now he despised it.





	Blue

Ever since the day he left, Eric had been blue.

Ever since Dele had left him and Tottenham for Atlético, Eric had been blue.

Ever since the man he cared so dearly for (and loved with his whole heart deep down) had ran away to a completely different country, Eric had been fucking blue.

 

Blue had once been his favourite colour, now he despised it.

 

\- before -

 

His blue shirt hung off Dele's narrow frame, resembling more of a child's Halloween costume made of a sheet with holes rather then a piece of high fashion. He pranced around the room in just the shirt and his boxers, making the fabric flutter and flow. Eric sat on the edge of his single bed.

 

"What are you doing in my shirt, Bamidele?" He asked.

 

"It's like a nightie, Diet. Kids in the Victorian times wore shit like this," he laughed as he continued to run from the window across the room into the bathroom and back again. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

 

Eric rolled his eyes and stifled a chuckle, "I like my shirts baggy, okay?"

 

"This isn't just baggy, mate. It's like a duvet cover with arm holes." He stopped his running and flopped onto his own single bed; only a couple of steps across from Eric's.

 

The blonde didn't mind Dele's teasing, in fact- secretly- he liked seeing Dele being swamped by his clothes. He didn't know how Dele had had the chance to sneak into Eric's bag and find his favourite shirt to prance around in, but he was happy he did.

 

The light blue material against his warm, brown skin. Their chests having touched the same fabric. The scents of their aftershaves mingling together. Something about Dele in his shirt set his thoughts ablaze with images and scenarios that he knew he shouldn't be imagining. But he couldn't help it. Eric couldn't help it. That damn blue shirt.

 

\- after -

 

The club thudded and heaved with bodies and music crashing together like riptides. The base of a Bryson Tiller song vibrated through his body, nerves, blood vessels and bones. All around him were people, and yet he felt more isolated than ever.

 

"C'mon mate! It's time to party, you're only 27 once!" Mousa yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard over the thunderous music.

 

"I'm not 27 just yet!" He tried to joke.

 

"You will be by the time we crawl home, Eric! Have a few shots, loosen up. Talk to a pretty girl or guy, get soooooome!" Jan slurred as he appeared beside Mousa in the blink of an eye. The blonde smiled weakly and nodded, a perfect answer in the eyes of his Belgian friends who cheered and slunk off back to the dance floor.

 

He looked at his empty cup and debated whether or not to wrangle another vodka-and-coke out of H. It was only the uneasy churning in his stomach that warned him not to have one more, one more that would wipe his mind of all pain and thoughts, one more that would probably allow him to actually enjoy his birthday instead of yearning over a boy who was 784.80 miles away; probably sipping margaritas while lounging around in the Spanish heat, a stunning model at his side and half the Iberian peninsula screaming his name.

 

Eric could never hate Dele; but he was very close to doing so at that moment.

 

How could Dele leave Spurs?

How could Dele leave the country?

How could Dele leave him?

 

The churning in his stomach began to rise up his chest and to the base of his throat. Pushing aside a bemused Pickford, he ran out the nearest fire exit and hurled the contents of his empty stomach into a drain grate. The stench of spirits and bile attacked his nose and his throat burned from the acid mess. He felt his diaphragm squeeze again and a more poisonous smelling liquid rose through his body and landed in the gutter.

 

Eric felt disgusted with himself and dragged a shaking hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. Everything cascaded around him as he fell back against the club wall, the neon blue of the sign above the door reflected in the puddles of rain along the pavement. He hadn't realised it was raining until that point.

 

He didn't know if it were rain or tears dampening his cheeks.

 

He shakily unzipped his pocket and retrieved his phone; the bright light blinded him when it awoke. 11:58. What a fucking mess he was.

 

He dropped his hand to his side and tried to imagine what he had done the year before.

 

He had been in H's back garden, everyone had still been recovering from the monstrosity that had been Sonny's new year's eve party 2 weeks before. Although it was mid January, his skin had burned and pulsed with warmth because for most of the night, he hadn't been alone. Dele had barely left his side.

 

The dark haired midfielder had been chatting away about random things that Eric hadn't tried to bother understanding, instead deciding to put all his attention into watching the way Dele's tongue darted out ever so often to dampen his lips, or the way his arms seemed to flurry about when he became passionate about something or the way he grew closer and closer to Eric's chest as the night grew darker and colder or the way-

 

 

The time was now 00:05. The date was the 15th of January 2021. And Eric's phone lit up with a message and beeped pitifully when he clicked the home button once again to turn on his 4G.

 

 

[ _00_ : _01_ ] 1 _Message_ _From_ : _Dele_

happy 27th eric, have a good one

 

 

There were so many things he wanted to reply with.

Fuck off. I hate you. I miss you. I need you. I want you. I love you.

 

But instead he just allowed the blue message to be replied with;

 

 _read_ _00_ : _05_

 

\- before -

 

France's kit had been a solid blue when Dele scored his first hat trick for England. The stadium's stands had been fields of blue, white and red. The Cross of St George and the French Tricolore hung from railings and were painted on crying and laughing faces.

 

Dele's first two goals had both been the product of a French mistake. The first being a result of free kick awarded to England after a head-but from Mbappé had led to the England captain being called into the sidelines for medics to have a look at him.

 

The second followed a corner taken by Hendo that sent the ball bouncing off Dele's forehead and into the back of the net despite Lloris' good attempt to deflect it.

 

But the third was him. Eric had found the ball at his feet and ran with it, passing it to Trent, who passed it to Raheem, who passed it back to Eric, who then kicked it in the general vicinity of one Dele Alli.

 

Dele had furrowed his eyebrows in deep concentration as he booted the ball with all of his might and sent the ball over the heads of Pavard and Mendy and again into the net. The final whistle had been blown and the stadium erupted into cheers and English euphoria.

 

Eric ran to Dele as fast as his legs could carry him and bulldozed him to the ground. He embraced the star player in his reddened arms as their fellow players began to pile on top of each other, shouting and laughing as they did so. The blonde saw his chance in the chaos of bodies to press his lips firmly in between his best friend's eyes.

 

Dele grinned at him with wild, brown eyes. Alive with adrenaline and excitement and the power of being a winner. And by being near Dele, Eric felt like the biggest winner on earth.

 

\- after -

 

The room's walls were striped with white and blue, Eric noticed as he sat down on a black, plastic chair. The interviewer sat near him, at angle so she could face both the camera and Eric simultaneously.

 

She had short brown hair, slightly spiked with gel and every inch of visible skin bar her face was a patchwork of intricate tattoos, a mirage of colour and patterns. She fiddled with her nose ring before patting herself down and smoothing our her blue t-shirt; then she smiled at him brightly and outstretched her hand, which he shook with a polite smile of his own.

 

He hated interviews as a whole, it was one of the negative aspects of being a footballer in his opinion. He understood that to some, his annoyances would be seen as stupid or conceited, but overall he was a shy bloke. It was a shame that is agent didn't take that into account when she lined him up with an interview a week.

 

"Thank you for doing this interview with us, Eric. We understand that you're a very busy a man, so it means a lot that you took some time out of your schedule to do this," the interviewer greeted while the crew fiddled around with the lights and cameras.

 

"No problem," he replied.

 

"So I'm Anika. And the guy on camera is Bram, this one on lights is Hans and the guy on sound is Pim."

 

The three technicians waved and grinned when Eric nodded and said, "leuk om je te ontmoeten" nice to meet you, in broken Dutch.

 

"So are we ready?" Anika asked the guys who nodded and counted down 3-2-1 before the familiar red light came on and the interview commenced. His interviewer spoke to the camera briefly in her language before switching back to English to ask Eric her questions.

 

He was prepared for nearly all of them.

 

How is this season going?

What are you thoughts on your previous game with Red Star Belgrade?

Are you looking forward to the north London derby next week?

 

But one question he wasn't prepared for, "how did you feel about Dele Alli's transfer to Atlético Madrid during the last transfer window, Eric?"

 

His mind hit a wall, he didn't know how to answer one bit. He couldn't be truthful so he pulled on his professional hat and replied,

 

"Well I think that it's a brilliant opportunity for Dele. Atlético are an amazing club and it'll definitely help him grow as a footballer and improve the amazing skills he has already."

 

Anika smiled softly, "I think everyone in the world knows about how close the two of you were at Spurs, is the relationship between you the same since his move?"

 

"Erm, well obviously we don't see each other as we did while he was still at Spurs but we still speak when we can. But like I said, it was a good move for him to go to Atlético, it was the right move for him no matter how I or the team feel, we know that it's what he needs.

 

"He is one of the best players I've ever met and it was a privilege to play with him at Spurs, you know."

 

"Do you miss him?" Anika asked after a slight pause. Eric let out a sign and rubbed his head.

The Dutch woman's warm blue eyes watched him intently.

 

"Of course I do but no matter where he goes, he'll always be my best friend."

 

 

 

 

A few days later his phone beeped with an instagram notification, @ _dele_ just posted a photo @ _dele_ has tagged you in a photo

 

He rubbed his eyes and set up in bed, ignoring the soft growl of Cisco who was awoken from Eric's sudden movement. The dog huffed and closed his eyes and fell back asleep within seconds.

 

He opened up Instagram and searched Dele up straight away. His newest [picture](https://goo.gl/images/tLqhpr) was of the two of them from a few years back, maybe 2016. Both in their old blue/white England kit, him when he had a thick head of blond hair and Dele with an arm around his neck, whispering something into his ear while he laughed.

 

**dele**

can't wait for england duty to see this one again @ _ericdier15_

 

The picture burned itself into Eric's mind. He remembered that moment. The joy and the exhilaration. But then the remembrance of him leaving, the way he did, hit him once again and sent shockwaves of betrayal and hurt throughout his body. He grit his teeth as he punched the keyboard with his thumbs, forcing himself to politely comment as not to cause a panic in 'football fandom' (something Jesse had introduced him to).

 

 **dele** can't wait for england duty to see this one again @ _ericdier15_

view 2,536 comments

 _ericdier15_ miss you too

 

\- before -

 

Eric woke  to the feeling of arms wrapped around his chest, a soft head of hair pressed into his neck and the soft breath of someone tickling his nape. The person had nuzzled up close to Eric, with their legs tangled up in his and the grip on his bare chest tight. Their skin felt like fire against his own. They were still asleep and Eric didn't want to disturb them, so he didn't dare to move at all, instead he closed his eyes and allowed the warmth and serenity of the sun kissed morning to wash over him like lazy waves up a soft sanded beach.

 

His room was bathed in the warm glow of a summer's morning and even his dogs, who both lay at the foot of the king sized bed, seemed content and peaceful. He silently prayed that he would be allowed to stay in this moment forever, with the things he cared most about in life next to him and all the things he didn't seemingly miles away. As he lay in between his powder blue sheets, the stress of the transfer window or the fear of him and his friends being separated and sent to far flung places across Europe and the wider world, did not enter his mind once.

 

All he could think about was the ball of flight in his chest that seemed to grow larger and larger as he spent longer and longer with the person beside him.

 

He was dragged from his thoughts by a loud yawn and the grip around his chest being loosened until the arms around him had been withdraw completely. He rolled onto he back and turned his head to grin at the sight of a still-sleepy Dele squinting even in the soft light. He had decided to wear one of Eric's blue tshirts to bed again even though the material always rode up his chest while he slept because of how large it was on him. Eric ran his eyes over the warm skin that stretched over Dele's chest and the tattoos that ran up his arm, he reached his hand out lightly and traced over the black lines gently with his forefinger and thumb. Dele's eyes crinkled as he sleepily grinned at the actions of his more-than-friend.

 

"Mornin', Diet," He mumbled in a deep, morning mumble that sent goosebumps across Eric's tanned skin.

 

"Mornin', Delboy," he whispered back as he lent up on his elbow to softly place his lips onto Dele's in a chaste, promise filled kiss. He rolled onto his back pulled the other man in close, wrapping one arm around Dele's waist while the other set about tickling him and sending him into fits of screaming laughter.

 

"Eric, stop!!" He cried out as he howled with laughed but the blonde didn't listen until a few minutes later when he followed up his plead with, "I'll make us a full English and a cuppa if you stop right now." Eric's arms quickly retreated from Dele's body, causing Dele to laugh even more. "Sally always told me that the only way to convince a man to do anything is to bribe them with food."

 

"And sex," Eric smirked and winked.

 

"Well yes, but my mum isn't going to say that to me, is she?" He rolled his eyes and pushed himself of the mattress but not before smacking a kiss onto Eric's forehead and running a hand over his freshly shaved head. He had an almost sad look in his eyes, not that Eric noticed, but a longing was fresh in his dark irises as well as deep pit of a growing guilt.

 

"I wish that you'd let your hair grow out again, Eric. You looked like a disney prince." He said quieter than he had spoken before. The change in tone seemed to worry Eric a little but he interlocked his fingers with Dele's and raised their hands to his cheek where he softly rubbed his growing stubble against the back of Dele's hand.

 

"Hmmm, I'll think about it if you get a move on and make us some brekkie," he teased. Dele smiled back and pulled away from his touch before leaving the bedroom and plodding down the stairs with the dogs in tow.

 

Eric smiled happily and threw his arm off to the side of him to retrieve his phone off the bedside table. He sat himself up and unlocked his phone, deciding to check the weather the first- he was thinking of doing on a daytrip somewhere with Dele and the dogs. 28°C in Brighton.

 

He liked Brighton.

 

Then he thought that he'd be a good adult and check the news like Tripps always told him to do. Never look at stories about yourself but make sure you know what's going on everywhere else.

 

His news app took a while to load but when he did, he almost dropped his phone in horror. All the colour drained from his face and it felt as though the blood in his veins had frozen. The BBC Sport headline that screamed in bold black letters under a picture of the man now cooking him breakfast. **DELE** **ALLI** **TRANSFER** **TO** **ATLETICO** **MADRID** **FINALISED**

 

He shakily clicked the story, begging to everything above that it was just rumours or a hoax, but as he read the article, everything around him seemed to fall apart.

 

DELE ALLI TRANSFER TO ATLETIC MADRID FINALISED

Late last night Tottenham Hotspur manager Mauricio Pochettino announced via club representatives that star midfielder Dele Alli will be transferring to the Spanish Club at the start of the season for a fee of £90 million.

The player known for his appearances in the Tottenham A team as well as the senior England men's team will be the only transfer out of the London club this transfer window says insider reports. The move will most definitely raise the profile of the Milton Keynes born player throughout Europe and the world and may even lead to transfers to even more prestigious clubs in the future.

We were unable to get a hold of Mr Alli for a comment at this time but there is an expected press conference in the coming days.

More to follow

 

 

 

Eric threw his phone off his bed with an grunt of frustration and hurt. He wiped the pouring tears from his eyes and leapt from his bed while more rolled down his cheeks. He stormed down the stairs and into the kitchen where Dele stood at the kettle with two mugs in front of him while the bacon fried away on the hob. He slammed the door shut, causing the other man to jump out of his skin and turn around startled, "Eric?"

 

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you fucking tell me?" He yelled.

 

Dele opened his mouth to question what he was on about until realisation washed over his face and his gazed dropped from the blond's betrayed face to his feet. "I-I didn't know how to tell you."

 

"You didn't know how to tell me?" Eric repeated. Dele nodded. "After doing whatever this is for six months; you couldn't tell me that you are transferring to fucking Spain?!"

 

"I'm sorry, Eric. I should've told you, I just didn't know what to say; what could I say?"

 

"I don't know, anything! Were you just expecting to sneak off after having sex one day, just gonna tell me, 'yeah I'll see you tomorrow' for me to turn up to training and find out that you'd moved to fucking Madrid?!"

 

"No, of course not! I wouldn't do that! I care about you, Eric, so much. So, so much. I didn't want to say anything because I knew that it would ruin this. It'd ruin us. I just wanted to enjoy us before everything is ruined."

 

"So why did you agree, Del? If you were really that worried. Why agree to go to Madrid?"

 

"I don't know Eric. It'll be good for me".

 

\- after -

 

A knock sounded on his door while he unpacked his suitcase and carefully folded and hung the clothes in the fairly large wardrobe that St. George's Park provided. Eric sighed and left his blue shirt half folded on the edge of the suitcase to answer the door.

 

He wasn't fast enough for the person on the other side of the door who knocked again rapidly, it sounded very much like a Manchester City defender's knock.

 

"Hold on, Stonesy, Jesus Christ. I'm just unpacking my shit-" he stopped when he opened the door and realised that it wasn't John Stones in front of him but was instead Dele Alli, freshly flown from Madrid. Skin darkened, hair sun-bleached, more muscular than when he had left Tottenham. But still wearing the same bashful smile he always did when he was unsure of a situation's outcome.

 

"Hi, Eric," he greeted nervously with a nervous wave and tilt of his head.

 

He wasn't supposed to be here. It had been all over the news that it was unlikely that Dele would actually be able to fly out to England, despite being called up, because of the ongoing strikes in airports all over Spain. Why was he here? Specifically outside of Eric's door at 8 o'clock at night.

 

"I don't have time to speak right now. I'm supposed to meet up with John. Sorry Dele, you'll have to keep whatever speech you've prepared to yourself for the time being," Eric snarked and hastily picked up his keycard and phone from the table near the door and slid them into his pocket before exiting the room completely and skirting around Dele's frozen body.

 

"What? What do you mean?"

 

"You weren't supposed to be here, you're supposed to be in Spain because of the strikes and I was ok with that. Now you're here, and I'm not ready to see you. Not right now."

 

"I've missed you, Eric."

 

The small voice which Dele spoke with slightly shattered the wall of ice that Eric had had to build around his heart. He wanted so much to drag the other man by his collars into his door and kiss him and make love to him for hours on end until neither of them could move.

 

But he couldn't allow himself to love him again just to be broken hearted once the summer and international break ended and they would both have to go their separate ways.

 

"I can't deal with this right now," he said with finality and left the midfielder in the corridor with his suitcase and blue duffle-bag at his feet.  His heart screamed for him to turn around, but his feet carried him to the end of the corridor and into the lift, where he got off at the second floor and entered the rec room where he could hear loud swearing and laughter.

 

John and Kyle were lounging on a sofa, legs across the others while they stared intently at the tv screen, playing Call Of Duty with more ferocity than he had ever seen two people play it with.

 

"Stop fucking killing me you knob!" John shrieked.

 

"Well get fucking better at it and then you might actually win one game! Jesus Christ John you've even managed to lose against easy set bots! Fucking easy-bots you dickhead!" Kyle yelled back.

 

Trent was sat in the corner, filling the whole argument on his phone and howling with laughter every time the Man City players opened their mouths and allowed a long string of high volume profanities to stream out.

 

"Hey, Eric. Has Dele found you yet? He mustn't have if you've come down here." Trent asked warmly when he noticed the blond's entrance and moved up on his sofa to give him a place to sit.

 

"I swear we gave him the right room; floor 4, room 6 right?" Kyle said distractedly, "how come you're not having mind blowing renunion sex?"

 

Eric snorted and tilted his head back, "I didn't want to speak to him. And how come he's even here? I thought he was having to stay in Madrid."

 

"The gaffer sorted it out. Apparently he got a train to Bordeaux in France and then flew to Birmingham to drive here. Bit of a mission if you ask me," John answered between hissing curses at Kyle every time he was killed.

 

"How come you're not happy to see him? It's been a while, right, since he's been back." Trent asked softly, sensing it was a delicate subject.

 

"It's still angry about how I found out that he was leaving. He didn't even tell me, you know? I literally woke up on the day the transfer was sealed and was checking my phone when the headline popped up. I had heard the rumours of cause but never did he once try to talk to me about it or let me know.

 

"Then he had the cheek to storm out of my house when I confronted him about it, saying that I was being 'too selfish' and 'standoffish' and I 'didn't see it from his view'. He didn't even apologise until a week after he had properly left." He ended his rant with a groan of frustration.

 

The lads had paused the game to listen to Eric's explanation and all three players stared at him in silence, shocked.

 

"Really? That's not cool. I mean, if John was thinking of transferring- especially out of the country- I'd definitely want to know straight away." Kyle said firmly, his boyfriend nodded with furrowed eyebrows.

 

"That seriously is a dick move. I'm sorry that it had to be like that."

 

"We weren't even properly together, as a couple, but still. Simply as a best friend, I should've known," Eric said sadly.

 

"I managed to smuggle some drink past Gareth and the staff," Trent whispered just loud enough for the other to faintly hear after a brief pause, "do you want to sneak up to my room and try and get pissed while we watch shit horror films? We have a few days until training actually starts."

 

The smiles that beamed at the young player were brighter than the sun itself, and the three men nodded enthusiastically back. "As the most mature of this room, at the grand age of thirty one, I think that it is a most marvellous plan, master Alexander-Arnold," Kyle bowed at the boy in the most dramatic way possible.

 

Eric ruffled his curly hair, "you're a good lad, Trent".

 

\- before -

 

The Atlético away kit was blue, the first time Eric played against him. The weather was shocking, thick dark clouds blotted together across the sky and as the morning forecast had predicted, the signs of a downpour would soon make an unwanted appearance.

 

The New White Hart Lane stadium was buzzing with excitement; tv pundits dotted around the edges of the pitch with their camera crews, almost every seat filled, the fans sang _Glory_ _Glory_ _Tottenham_ _Hotspur_ at the tops of their lungs. It lit a warmth in Eric's heart, no matter that happened; he knew that the fans would always be there.

 

It winded him as he waited in the tunnel to go onto the pitch when he saw Dele up close in a kit that wasn't England's or Spurs'. He hated how well it suited him, how well adjusted and relaxed we was mingling in amongst world legends like Griezmann and Costa. He hated it.

 

Dele met his gaze and tapped Koke on the shoulder familiarly and walking over to clasp hands with all of his old Spurs brothers. He performed his intricate handshake with Sonny, not forgetting even one movement or being off by a beat, hugged Harry and bantered with the others but when it came to speaking to Eric. It was off.

 

Both of them were off. The interaction between the two was so cold that their respective teammates were taken aback by the seemingly sudden U-turn of relations between the pair, it had only been a couple of months since they had spent the summer kissing, swimming and joined at the hip. It had suddenly become winter in the tunnel.

 

"Good luck, Dele," Eric said casually with a slightly pained smile. The other man laughed humourlessly and rolled his eyes.

 

"Yeah, whatever. Good luck, Dier." He turned on his heel and rejoined his new team- their new opponent. The blonde stood shocked until Mousa took him lightly by the arm and whispered softly in his ear, "ignore him. We don't need his damn luck if you're here, Eric. The sooner the traitor fucks back off the Spain, the better, ja?"

 

Eric nodded and briefly hugged the curly haired midfielder, he was more than happy to know that he had Mousa on his side.

 

 

The game was pretty much unremarkable in every other aspect, except one incident.

 

Eric was blinded by the growing fierceness of the shower when he was sent off balance while chasing a pass, sending him crashing to the wet turf with a bolt of hot pain shooting through his calf. He opened his eyes to see his leg covered in grass and underneath the sodden green, three long, painfully red, stud marks.

 

He felt his wrists being pulled up by Harry and Christian, and the presences of other players and officials surrounding him. He stood up uneasily, nervous to put any weight on his injured leg which he guessed had a pulled muscle, on top of the scrapes.

 

"What the hell were you thinking, Dele? Doing a tackle like that?!" Toby screamed from somewhere to his left. Eric lifted his head and spun around to where he saw Dele being pulled back by his team from a furious Toby and Hugo.

 

"Putain!" Hugo spat.

 

Somewhere the ref screamed on his whistle.

 

"What happened?" He asked Christian who was still holding him up while the medics made their way across the pitch.

 

"You don't know?"

 

He shook his head, "I think I blacked out for a second."

 

Christian swore under his breath, "Dele pretty much ploughed into you with a slide tackle while you were chasing the ball, out of nowhere really. His studs must've caught you as well. Jesus Christ what a mess."

 

Over his shoulder, Eric could see the ref pull a yellow card out from his pocket and raise it in the air, ignoring the loud protests of the Atlético players. The medical team appeared at his side, telling him to leave the pitch so they could properly assess his injury- mostly because of his clear pain whenever his foot touched the ground.

 

As he walked off the pitch, he passed his ex almost-boyfriend. Unable to ask all the questions on his mind; why did you do that? did you mean to hurt me? was it an accident? He settled on a mumble that he knew only Dele would understand,

 

"What happened, Del?"

 

\- after -

 

Dele cornered him the day after their friendly with Switzerland, which had resulted in a win for the Swiss after a 94th minute shocker from Shaqiri.

 

Eric was walking into his room when he felt a soft shove and heard the door slam behind him. He spun around in confusion and opened his mouth to shout profanities, then he saw it was his former Spurs teammate and the look of anger changed into a look of severe annoyance.

 

"What the hell?"

 

"Shh don't shout! Chill!" Dele pressed his hands onto the blonde shoulders in order to calm him down. The look of distancing didn't remove itself from Eric's face. "I just want to talk to you. I feel like I haven't spoken to you in ages."

 

"And who's fault is that, huh?"

 

"I know you're still angry and you have every right to be, but we're teammates and we need to at least be civil with each other. For the good of the others, if not for us."

 

"Don't take the moral high ground about the good of the team. For the past year all you have thought about is your damn self. When you moved to Atlético, did you think about the boys? No. Did you think how I would feel? No."

 

Dele's face was placid as he listen to Eric speak, "I did think of you but I had to think about myself Eric. I couldn't spend my whole career at Spurs for fucks sake. It was an opportunity of a lifetime and I had to take it."

 

"I'm not angry that you went, Dele!" Eric shouted with tears in his eyes, "I'm angry that you never spoke to me about it or told me! You were my best friend, first and foremost, and you didn't tell me! And when we did meet on the pitch for the first time, you did a dirty tackle on me!"

 

"I've told you how sorry I am for that match, I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but that's the thing, I wasn't thinking. I was hurt, I was upset and I took it out on the wrong person.

 

"And the reason I didn't tell you was because I regretted signing the contract the moment after I had left that boardroom. I knew that I hadn't made the right decision. I'm not saying that I wouldn't've moved to Atlético at some point, but I realised i wasn't ready then, that we weren't ready then.

 

"I didn't tell you because I wanted to forget that I was going to leave. I knew that in September I was going to leave you and the lads and London and I selfishly wanted to enjoy it before the inevitable happened."

 

He stopped when he realised that he had begun to hyperventilate, "I just, I'm so sorry." He cried, clutching Eric as though the man were the only thing tying him to the ground. His fists tightened in Eric's blue shirt.

 

Eric's eyes grew wide when he realised that Dele had become awash with panic, he softened his voice and ran his hands up and down the other man's biceps, steading him as he soothed, "breathe, Del. It's okay, just breathe for me." Over and over. A mantra on his lips.

 

He guided Dele to sit on his bed in order to collect himself, "c'mon dele, just breathe yeah. I haven't been the best either, I've been so angry that I haven't allowed myself to even consider talking to you. I know that Atlético was the right move for you and I'm proud of you for making that jump but I'm not going to lie, it hurt a lot.

 

"You're right, we do need to make amends because I can't be angry with you anymore." He sighed.

 

"I've missed you so much, Eric," Dele hiccuped. He rubbed his eyes and tiredly smiled at his friend. Eric reaches his arm over Dele's shoulder and pulled him into a soft embrace:

 

"I've missed you too, Dele," he replied truthfully.

 

For so long he had been angry, holding onto it with both hands and the moral high ground it gave him. He had felt it had been poisoning his bloodstream for so long, like a slowly festering wound that he hadn't allowed to heal. He had felt so full of pain and frustration for so long, allowing himself to be consumed with sadness and negativity, pessimism and a bleak outlook on everything.

 

And Dele.

 

His shoulders were now ten tonnes lighter. Ever since he had left the British isles for the sun soaked peninsula he had felt a niggling at the back of his mind, and often he found himself overcome by guilt. He had made some good friends within the array of continental players and while Madrid felt a world away from London, it was slowly beginning to feel like home.

 

He enjoyed waking up to the warmth of the Spanish sun and walking down the elegant and manicured streets and boulevards just to pop into Caprabo for some groceries. He enjoyed listening to the Spanish language, the way the sounds rolled off the tongue like soft caramel and he enjoyed mingling in amongst the locals in the Saturday morning market near his house, inhaling the sweet scents and spices that floated in the air.

 

But then he'd remember how he and Eric would run in the pouring rain to be able to slip into the nearby Tesco for a couple of bags of popcorn and donuts, as well as a 2l bottle of coca-cola and fanta during one of their film marathons. And how it would sound when Eric slipped into Portuguese when he spoke to old friends from his youth, bringing the sunshine from the Algarve into a cloudy north London day. And the day he decided to make a trip to Borough Market in order to surprise Eric with a one of his favourite Nigerian dishes, Ogbono; it had been so busy and heaving but within the crowd he no longer felt like a footballer playing for one of the biggest teams in the UK, he just felt like Dele, on the hunt to make a brilliant dinner for the man he lov- liked.

 

"What are we going to do, Eric?" He whispered a while later. The pair had lain down on Eric's double bed, still fully dressed, on their backs and staring at the pale white ceiling. It felt as though hours had passed since their walls had fallen and they had discussed their feelings.

 

In all honesty, Eric didn't know. He wanted so much to tell Dele that it'd all be okay and they'd find a way to make it work. Even apart, they could stay strong. But that wasn't the way the real world worked. Everyone knew the tales of players, completely smitten and in love but how their relationships had ended once one made a big move.

 

Steven Gerrard and Xabi Alonso, Sonny and Kevin Wimmer, Luka Modrić and Ivan Rakitić.

 

They would just become another footballer fable.

 

"I loved you Eric, you know?" Dele whispered, as light as a feather but the words as heavy as lead. He closed his eyes, regretting having spoken however also feeling lighter knowing that he had spoken of something he had held to himself for so long. "I think, I still do."

 

"I loved you too, Del. And I think I always will, but we'll have to wait. We're not right for each other right now," the words stabbed at him to say but both knew that what was said was true. Too true.

 

"I know. I'm sorry."

 

"Don't apologise. It's not your fault. It's just the way it is, it would've always ended like this. One of us would've moved sooner or later and we'd be in the same predicament."

 

"I'll always be ready to be with you. No matter what."

 

"And I, you. We'll be wonderful, Dele. One day."

 

 

\- One Day -

 

There was a bright blue sky on the day that Dele and Eric became Dele&Eric. The soft spring of 2029 brought with it the soft greens of grass, the pale white of clouds, the brilliant yellow of daffodils and the warm pink of blushed cheeks.

 

Eric Dier had announced his retirement from the game at the age of 35, he had remained at Spurs until his last day playing; although he had spent some time on loan at Manchester City and Bayern Munich. His last day had been a cocktail of pride, happiness and sadness. He had had so many bright memories at the North London club.

 

Dele Alli had retired from his most recent club, PSG, following an accident while skiing in the Alps during a team building holiday that resulted in an broken ankle and uncertainty about whether or not he'd be able to return to the pitch. He did in fact return to PSG for another season, until he decided that he had had more than enough good times and had achieved everything he had ever wished for and more.

 

Eric moved back to Portugal. Clay and Cisco had unfortunately passed away and so he returned to the Algarve alone and adopted a young stray whom he named Carlos.

 

Dele followed him to the sun kissed shores, where the afternoons were scorching, and the evenings a soft embrace of warmth, whilst a sea breeze stopped one from being driven mad from the heat.

 

On the afternoon in question, Dele pulled up in his baby blue 1963 Alfa Romeo outside the address given to him by Jeremy, Eric's dad.

 

It was a modest, white villa that perched on a hill that overlooked the sapphire waves of the Atlantic and the pristine beaches and coves that ran along it. The door was made from a light brown wood that had been decorated with a mosaic of different hues of blue and green and all the windows that he could see had been created from stained glass.

 

He grasped the bouquet of blue Forget-Me-Nots in his hand as he walked up the drive and knocked at the door, hoping to the heavens that he could actually be in.

 

The door opened after a few moments with a creak and a yell as a small brown dog bounded out of the house and into Dele's legs.

 

Eric appeared tanned and for the first time in a a long time, was sporting a thick head of blond hair.

 

"Your Disney Prince hair is back, I see."

 

"And you're back, I see."

 

"Of course. I told you I would. I want this to be a new start, if you'll have me, that is."

 

Eric stepped forward and wrapped his hand around the back of Dele's neck. They pressed their foreheads together and slowly tipped their heads until their lips greeted each other in a tender embrace. Intertwined while Carlos yapped and ran, and pouring every word they wished they had said throughout the years into the kiss. It was blistering yet soft, fiery yet exact, passionate yet honest. It was everything they were and more.

 

"I'll always have you," Eric smiled when they pulled slightly away for breath, "and you'll always have me."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you have enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Thank you for reading my lovelies!!!
> 
> -H


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